


never let me go

by sapphfics



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: F/F, listen...they're in love, minor implication of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphfics/pseuds/sapphfics
Summary: There are beautiful women, and then there’sHélène Kuragin, and every time Marya so much as glances at her she feels as if her heart has been split open and stuffed with sunshine.





	never let me go

There are beautiful women, and then there’s _Hélène Kuragin_ , and every time Marya so much as glances at her she feels as if her heart has been split open and stuffed with sunshine.

(There has yet to be a word Marya has deemed worthy to describe Hélène, or the feelings that turn her stomach to butterflies. She’s not sure if there ever will be.)

But, Marya only gazes at her from afar.

She likes it that way, enjoys observing the little things about Hélène, like how many jewels she wears, how many people appear to enjoy her company, how her laugh could make flowers grow. Marya never approaches her, though, because that way, she can’t mess up.

 _It is better this way_ , Marya tells herself. She thinks that perhaps if she repeats it enough she may one day believe it to be true.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

//

"Excuse me, are you Marya?”

Marya looks up and has to fight not to flee the ballroom because - Hélène is standing in front of her, Hélène is _speaking_ to her, Hélène is asking her a question, Hélène is taking notice of her - why?

"Yes,” Marya replies almost too loudly. “Why are you -”

“I am here because I feel rather guilty when those I invite to my balls do not appear to be having fun,” Hélène explains. “Now, how can I help you?”

Marya knows she should be running, should be warning Hélène to stay as far away from her as she can get, knows she should be doing anything but speaking to her and yet, here she stands, lost for words. “I -”

Hélène appears to sense her anxiety and so she grabs Marya’s hand.

"Relax,” Hélène soothes. “It’s alright, Marya, I’m here.”

Before Marya can even sense what has begun, Hélène has a comforting arm slung around her shoulders and is leading her away from the crowds.

//

“You see, my betrothed passed on some weeks ago,” Marya is staring at her shoes, not wanting to meet Hélène’s eyes. “I feel it is my fault, that I have let down my family.”

"Tell me, Marya, are you secretly the Grimm Reaper?” Hélène asks. “Because if so, I must commend you on such a remarkable job of hiding your scythe under that dress.”

“I’m sorry,” Marya is confused. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“I mean that what happened was not your fault.” Hélène smiles at her, only her and no one else, and Marya feels herself grinning back. “Besides, he would want you to be happy even if he’s not here, yes?”

Marya nods. “I suppose you are right.”

“Darling,” Hélène whispers and Marya can’t help but blush. “I usually am.”

//

Surprisingly, Hélène invites Marya to her next ball instead of abandoning the strange girl who cried on her shoulder about lost love, and Marya is somewhat confused but grateful nonetheless.

So, feeling braver than usual, Marya almost marches over to Hélène and hands her a box.

"Er,” Marya begins, the confidence leeching out of her as if a freezing wind is hitting her in the face. “These are for you. To apologise, for my indiscretion -”

"You bought me pearls?” Hélène cries in delight; and immediately wraps the single stand around her neck despite already having one there.

“I’m -” Marya starts and then Hélène plants a kiss on her cheek and Marya tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries not to blush.

"Come, let’s dance!” Hélène cheers and pulls Marya onto the dance floor.

It becomes clear that Marya cannot dance, but Hélène doesn’t seem to care.

"You’re too good for me, you know,” Hélène admits.

“I'm certain that’s not possible.” Marya doubts. “In any case, I’m glad you liked the pearls.”

“I shall treasure them until my dying day,” Hélène promises and Marya is fairly sure she’s joking but perhaps she is not -

No. No. _No_.

Marya’s stomach flips at the thought of Hélène dying and she suddenly feels as if she might faint. She grabs Hélène’s shoulder for support and Hélène looks up at her in concern.

“I’m okay,” Marya clarifies. “Don’t worry.”

 _I always worry about you_ , Hélène thinks. _I just want you to be safe_.

From a corner of the ballroom, Pierre Bezukhov watches them dance and pours himself another glass of whisky.

//

There’s a war going on, out there, somewhere but -

Right now, they have each other, and that’s all that matters.

"You are radiant, Marya Dmitrievna,” Hélène remarks and she’s drunk and tired but she hasn’t let go of Marya’s hand, so that’s got to mean something. “You’re like the moon, or something else poetic like that.”

“If I’m the moon,” Marya is smiling and Hélène is giggling. “I suppose that means you’re my sun.”

“I would like to be,” Hélène bites her lip. “Do you want me to?”

Marya never thought she’d see Hélène blush, and yet, here they are and she feels as if she’s witnessing a miracle.

"Truthfully?” Marya admits. “I want nothing more.”

(Hélène wonders if this might be what falling in love is supposed to feel like.)

//

It’s barely a week later when Hélène pulls Marya into a side-room and looks as if she’s about to cry.

Marya doesn’t know what to do, so she just stands as Hélène clutches her hands as though they were a lifeline.

“I am so sorry, Marya but - it is final,” Hélène swallows. "My father has engaged me to Pierre, and so now I must marry him or risk ruining my family."

Marya is trying to hold herself together but -

"Does he love you?” Marya asks, desperate. She’s known Pierre since she was a child and he’s never seemed interested in anything but his books and ideas of grandeur. “Do you love him?”

Hélène says nothing.

Marya knows why.

//

It happens too fast.

Three days, to be precise.

Hélène is standing at the altar and she’s marrying Pierre and it’s happening too quick, too soon, and Marya is watching, standing in an itchy dress and -

She feels as she’s at a funeral.

//

The opera is so crowded Marya feels as if there’s barely room to breathe.

But somehow, Hélène still stands out from all of them, like a light at the end of a tunnel, or sunlight through a stained-glass window.

Marya notices she’s still wearing the pearls Marya gave her all those years ago and she feels as if she might collapse.

Hélène’s not wearing her wedding ring and for a moment Marya forgets that they haven’t seen one another in years.

That’s why Marya approaches her, with Natasha and Sonya in tow.

Their conversation is brief but Hélène is still looking at her as if she’s worth something, like it’s still Hélène and her, moon and sun, and time has yet to pry them apart.

“There’s a woman one should stay far away from,” Marya warns, because she’s thought of almost nothing but Hélène since her day at the altar.

It seems as if Hélène will never leave her mind, and honestly, Marya isn’t sure she wants her to.

//

The opera concludes with a miserable end for all and Marya sees her again outside, waiting at the door.

"Really Hélène, you and Dolokhov, of all people?” Marya asks, more out of confusion than malice. “I never thought he liked women."

"He does not," Hélène looks up at her, hurt. "Do you really think so little of me that I would throw myself at someone who simply walked me into an opera? I thought you were better than that."

“No,” Marya tries to protest but - Hélène won’t even look at her.

"Well you can’t exactly blame me,” Marya bites her lip. “You have got quite the reputation.”

"Go on then, say it,” Hélène almost hisses. “You appear to be a fan of gossip, so you must know what they call me.”

“I will not,” Marya refuses. “I’m sorry, Hélène. I never know what to say around you.”

"In any case,” Hélène chews on her lip, as if she’s holding back a smirk or even a smile, and says “I’ll admit it is good to see you again, I missed you.”

“I have missed you too,” Marya says. “Despite what you might believe.”

“You simply must come and visit us,” Hélène offers. “I am always free and he’s almost never home during the evenings.”

“Certainly,” Marya agrees, and then the carriage arrives, and Hélène grabs her hand as Marya helps her in.

As she makes her own way home, Marya tries not to think about how Hélène won’t even refer to Pierre by his name.

//

Marya visits her the next day, and at first, everything seems fine.

Hélène invites her inside and they sit down to drink tea. There’s a storm brewing outside but Marya doesn’t care.

As long as she and Hélène are together nothing else matters.

But then - Marya touches a hand to her face and Hélène visibly flinches.

"Don’t…” Hélène whispers, backing away.

“What’s happened to you?” Marya asks, and she’s not sure whether she’s on the verge of tears or about to hunt down every man who's ever laid a hand on her and shoot him with his own guns. Or perhaps both. How righteous that would feel to bring Hélène’s suffering to an end. Marya stands up, fury in her eyes.

“No!” Hélène touches her arm and Marya turns around. “It won’t make a difference.”

Marya stands down and Hélène is relieved.

"You never answered my question,” Marya doesn’t break away from Hélène’s gaze. “Do you love him?”

“No.” Marya feels Hélène entwine their fingers together.

Hélène looks as if she never wants to let her go. “How could I ever fall in love him whilst you’re still around?”

That’s when Hélène kisses Marya and everything else seems to fade away like the distant hum of guitars.

//

Perhaps, Marya wonders, we can build a future together.

Maybe.

Maybe not.


End file.
